La Ange Roussel – Remungol - Sunday 25th July 2010-07-26
Subtitle: “I just knew I should have stayed in bed this morning!”
06:30 hrs. When I loaded my bike onto the club car (see picture), I discovered that my front cycle wheel had developed a puncture overnight. I didn’t take it as the portent of gloom it surely was, but added my spare wheel to back of the car and continued blissfully unaware of the events that were to come. I collected club mate Ian Cushway on the way and we covered the 30 minutes to the race start at Rumengol without incident.
The Start:
La Ange Roussel consists of a walk and two cyclosportifs; one of 100 kms, the other 60 kms – both of these races take place simultaneously.
Three Taupont Cyclisme (T.C.) members lined up at the start of the 100 kms race; Andy Shaw, Ian and yours truly. There were 100 kms ahead of us and not a massive bunch of competitors; maybe 150 in all, but I’m not great at estimating numbers.
This was Ian’s first cyclosportif and after our ignominious efforts in the Guilliers Pass’ Cyclisme in April he admitted to feeling somewhat nervous. Andy and I left him to psych himself into the zone and chatted briefly about the fancy satellite tracker that Andy had attached to his handlebars – he really does have all the toys; an advantage of owning a bike shop of course.
We barely heard the Starter’s command and we were off!
Bloody Hell! The leaders (which included some semi-professionals, visiting Koreans, a Japanese rider, and even a young semi-pro from Wales – who was staggered when I greeted him in Welsh when we met in the car part earlier – but that’s another story), went off like an express train. I had to dig really deep just to stay with the bunch along the narrow and winding roads that leading out of Remungol.
I worked like stink to keep with the main bunch for the first 8 kms or so but – yes, you guessed it, we arrived at the first long hill and I was dropped like a greased cannonball.
Now I know I’ve said this before and I really don’t know what’s wrong with me but I can’t climb hills.
I train hard. I actively search out the long climbs around my home during my many training sessions. I try my best, really I do, but I simply cannot climb hills with any degree of competence or ease.
That morning I started feeling ill even before cresting the top of that first climb. This was most unlike me and although I’m not a fast climber, I normally reach the top of hills without feeling like I’m going to lose my breakfast. Feeling that bad that early in the race I knew I’d had it.
Andy, of course, had dropped me just after the start as usual and was mixing it with the leaders. I was expecting this, but when Ian overtook me going like a locomotive at the start of the second long hill I realised that something was wrong. In our few training rides, Ian and I have been pretty closely matched, although he may have been taking it easy on the old-timer. I couldn’t understand that when I tried to put the hammer down nothing happened; I just dropped further and further back.
I managed to grind out the low gears and made the top of the drag with a few other cyclists around me.
Slow, slow, slow:
The next few miles were weird. My legs felt lifeless and I wasn’t really enjoying things at all. When we reached the 30 kms stage I did my usual speed check and was gutted to see that my average was only 31.3 kph (19.6 mph). Although the course was fairly hilly, I didn’t think it was as bad as say, the route of ‘La Bernard Hinault’ at St Brieuc. I can normally manage more than that during the early stages of a race and I look to exceed 33.5 kph (that’s 21 mph).
Today there was almost no wind and it was cool with just the tiniest bit of drizzle so I there were no excuses; I couldn’t blame the weather for my being so damnably slow. I couldn’t understand it; I felt knackered but was only a third of the way round the course.
I soon found myself well and truly alone when I came to a roundabout that was not signposted with race directions. I circled it a couple of times wondering what to do when a group of about ten riders appeared and turned right. I managed to jump onto the back of group and found myself pelting along the narrow, tree-lined roads.
Within the next 15 kilometres I was dropped again on yet another long climb.
Where am I?
It was not long after this that the sun decided it would be a good time to appear and boil what was left of my brains. I was feeling pretty hot when at about 48 kms I arrived at a T-junction.
At the junction there were two race signs, one pointing left, the other right. Neither sign indicated which direction the 100 kms racers should take. I decided to turn left for no other reason than I’d been turning right for a while; the climb continued.
About 5 kms later I found myself back in Rumengol; I had obviously turned the wrong way and cut the route short by about 40 kms! I was angry with myself.
What to do? Retrace my steps and return to the junction to complete the race or give up? Bravely, I turned into the finish and gave up.
60 kms and its over:
I felt rotten. I have no beef with the race organisation, or the lack of adequate directions. No, if I hadn’t been dropped by the various packs I would not have taken the wrong turn and become lost. It was well and truly my own fault.
About an hour after my ignominious finish, Andy arrived just behind the leaders in about 10th place. A short while after this Ian came in with the second large group, finishing with a very creditable performance for his first sportif. He did say that he was a tad disappointed about not being able to keep with the main bunch. He also said that they too had taken a wrong turn at one stage which had cost them a few minutes. Neither statement makes me feel any better.
Why?
I have no idea why I performed so badly. I don’t think I am coming down with the ‘flu or anything, although I have been feeling unusually tired this week. I’m writing this on Thursday so I’ve had plenty of time to recover.
I can only say that I’ve been pretty miserable since the race. I’ve been and wondering whether I should throw in the towel as far as cycling is concerned. Perhaps I should join in with the rest of the old folk at the Retraite Club (Retirement Club) and play boules on Tuesday afternoons instead.
Must stop now; I’m going out for a ride.
Tra, K
Next race: “La Cyco Morbihan” - Plouay - 20th August.
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